


I'll Be Around For You

by a_mind_at_work



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Gen, Ghost Laurens AU, M/M, everyone who dies in canon also dies here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 23:09:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 10,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10864044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_mind_at_work/pseuds/a_mind_at_work
Summary: Philip Hamilton has a best friend that nobody else can see. His name is Freckles, and he wears that uniform Philip's dad once wore during the war. Freckles promises he'll always be there for Philip, no matter what. Freckles also seems to know a lot about Philip's dad...A ghost Laurens au! This was posted to my tumblr from January of 2017 to May of 2017, and is now on Ao3 for your enjoyment. A huge thank you to the kiddo who suggested I write this AU, and to everyone who followed along as it was posted to my Tumblr. Your weekly comments meant so much to me. <333





	1. Look at my son!

**January 1782**

“Oh my god,  _ Eliza,”  _ Alexander exclaimed.

He’d just arrived in Albany and had flown up the stairs of the Schuyler Mansion, barely saying hello to Mrs. Schuyler and the youngest of the Schuyler children who were gathered downstairs. In the second room on the right was the room he knew he’d find his wife in; the room that was once her’s and Angelica’s and Peggy’s, and was now Cornelia’s and Catherine’s. The room where Eliza was lying in bed, their newborn son, asleep, cradled in her arms.

“Oh my––” Alexander couldn’t help the tears that came to his eyes as he took in his beautiful son–– skin a healthy tan, just like his father’s, hair no more than a brown halo glowing atop his head.

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” Eliza said, her voice soft and tired. 

Alexander took her in, her pale skin even paler than usual, dark circles under her eyes where there previously hadn’t been even a trace before, her black hair frizzy instead of its usual sleek. Her eyes were fluttering shut in the way they did only when she’d been kept up too long. The first time he’d seen her do this had been at that fateful ball in Morristown, in the winter of 1780. And here they were, the winter of 1782, their first child safely delivered into the world. 

He walked forward and ran a hand through Eliza’s hair. She shut her eyes, leaning into the touch. They stayed like that for a few moments–– Eliza finally relaxed now that her husband was there, Philip sleeping, Alexander marvelling at the fact that  _ he had a family  _ after so many years of feeling rootless, of feeling like he always had to prove himself to keep his place. Even in Washington’s military family, where he knew of his value, his worth, he never felt entirely secure. But here, with Eliza, and now with Philip, he knew he’d found what he’d always been longing for. 

“Let me take him,” Alexander offered. “You need some rest, my Eliza.” 

“Mmm,” Eliza hummed in agreement, allowing Alexander to lift Philip out of her arms. 

Alexander kissed the crown of her head as he bent over to hold his son for the first time. 

“Hello,” he said, voice cracking. “I’m your papa,” he said with a delighted laugh.

Philip opened his eyes and blinked once before shutting them again.

Alexander walked over to the window that overlooked the front lawn, the long staircase descending to the dirt road that cut through the trees and pastures. He could see the Hudson, sparkling in the early afternoon sun.

“You outshine the morning sun,” he said to Philip. “My son.” He couldn’t contain the smile that overtook his face.

He heard a quiet knock on the open door and turned to see his father-in-law, Philip Schuyler, standing there, smiling at the two of them before turning his gaze to his sleeping daughter. He strode over to Alexander and baby Philip, eyes locked on his grandson’s peaceful face.

“I remember when she was that small,” he said softly, nodding toward Eliza. “They grow up faster than you’d expect.” He placed a hand on Alexander’s shoulder. “Cherish the moments when you can still hold him, son.” 

Alexander nodded. “I swear that I’ll be around for him.” 

He looked back down at his sleeping son. He couldn’t describe what, exactly, he was feeling.  _ Pride?  _ He thought.  _ No, pride is not the word I’m looking for. There is so much more inside me now. _

For once, he was grateful he hadn’t died in the trenches of Yorktown, or while taking the British redoubts. He was grateful to have survived the war. He was grateful that he finally got to know how being  _ complete  _ felt. 

 

**August 1782**

John Laurens was certain of only one thing: he was dying.

Everything else was a blur. There was the South Carolina heat, the buzzes of the mosquitos and flies that he knew would descend upon him like he’d seen happen to other fallen men, their eyes left half-open, as if they couldn’t bear to stop looking at this world as they entered the next. There was shouting, the whiz of bullets, the groans of the injured, the dying. He wondered if his groans were joining them. He couldn’t tell. 

John Laurens had imagined death many, many times in his short life, but he’d always failed to actually imagine how it would  _ feel  _ to die. It wasn’t painless, but it also wasn’t as unpleasant as he’d have guessed it to be.

He’d known the war was over. He’d been there, at Yorktown, with Hamilton, with Lafayette, with Washington. He knew a treaty would be signed, and the Americans would be declared the victors. So why had he not hung up his sword? His gun? Because he longed for death, and that was the one thing he could not honorably give himself. So he prayed that some damned redcoat would do it. And some damned redcoat finally had.

There was one other thing, or person, rather, he could not honorably have. Laurens prayed he wouldn’t be damned to Hell for thinking of the object of his affections as he bled out on the marshy South Carolina ground. But even if he was sent to the icy depths of Hell for all eternity, thinking of Alexander during his last moments on this earth were worth the punishment.

He knew Alexander had all but hung up his own sword and gun. He knew his love was out of harm’s way, at least in the sense of war. He also knew that Alexander could never truly be out of harm’s way because he was Alexander–– a constant danger to himself because he never knew when to stop. Not that John had ever been much of a help in getting him to stop, but he liked to imagine that he had at least provided  _ some  _ aid. 

This whole dying business sure had him indulging his own vanity. 

He could feel himself slipping, slipping into blackness. It wasn’t a scary darkness, though. It was rather comforting. It made him feel surrounded, protected. He wondered if he’d see his mother first. Oh, how he’d missed her.    
  
John Laurens took one shuddering gasp, and then breathed no more, his half-open eyes witness to the remaining violence, and, soon, the mournful silence. 


	2. The Laurens Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;))))))

“Alexander?” Eliza hovered in the doorway of the study at the Schuyler Mansion, where Philip Schuyler had set Alexander up to prepare for his upcoming bar exam, giving him full access to the law books Philip had amassed over the years.

“Hmm?” he hummed, not looking up from the many books and parchment covering the tiny desk in front of him.

“There’s a letter for you.” The way Eliza’s voice cracked went unnoticed by Alexander. The fact that she was personally delivering this letter also failed to strike him as odd, which it indeed was. 

He glanced at the paper she’d extended to him, only catching the sender’s last name:  _ Laurens.  _

“It’s from John Laurens. I’ll read it later.” 

Eliza sighed. “No. It’s from his father.” 

Alexander placed his quill in the nearly empty jar of ink. “His father?” He felt like the air had been knocked right out of him.  _ His father.  _ He took a shaky breath. “Will you read it?” 

Eliza looked at the sealed letter, then into her husband’s eyes. She slowly nodded her head, breaking the red seal with a delicate finger. She opened the tri-folded letter, and Alexander noticed her hands were shaking ever so slightly. 

“‘On Tuesday, the 27th, my son was killed in a gunfight against British troops retreating from South Carolina. The war was already over. As you know…” 

The words began to jumble together in Alex’s head. He could hear his sweet Eliza’s voice, he could see her holding the letter, the tremor in her hands growing worse as she read on, but he could not make sense of any of it. 

The words  _ my son was killed  _ were the only thing echoing in his mind. They took up every corner, every atom of his brain. They were loud, incessant, yet he still refused to believe them, to believe that Laurens,  _ his Laurens,  _ was gone. 

“Alexander,” Eliza said, the letter gently placed on his desk, her hand even more gently placed on his shoulder. “Are you alright?” 

A million responses came to Alexander’s mind, but none of them were adequate. No. He knew there would  _ never  _ be a word, an emotion, an expression, that was strong enough to explain how he felt.

He shrugged his wife, whom he loved, whom he loathed to see so worried, so sad, off of his shoulder and heard himself respond, “I have so much work to do.” 

***

What Alexander and Eliza didn’t know was that John Laurens was in the Schuyler Mansion. That he had been, in fact, since the moment he died. He’d spent the first few days trailing Alexander, watching him study, watching him adore his sleeping son, joke with his father-in-law. 

He also watched Eliza. At first he was jealous of her. He didn’t want to be, but he couldn’t help it. He watched, heart aching, as she snuggled up close to Alexander at night, as Alexander lovingly pet her hair and showered her with gentle kisses. 

But he also watched as she fretted over Alexander, much in the same way John had taken to by the time they’d reached Yorktown. It’d been one thing for John himself to be self-destructive. It was an entirely different thing when it was Alexander. Especially after… After. After John had realized how he felt. After he realized Alexander wasn’t the only one who felt more than friendship blooming between them. 

It was in watching Eliza worry much like John had, like John still did, that he began to like her, then love her, all within the space of a few hours, really. It was both because he had little else to do other than watch her and her gentle ways, and because she was just that sweet and charming a person.

Lastly, he studied little Philip. He couldn’t help the grin that broke across his face when Alexander held his son, tears still gathering in his eyes even though Philip was seven months old. He knew it was because Alexander was so happy, so relieved, to have a family. It’d been all he’d ever wanted. 

Who was John to loath the fact that Alexander could not build that family with him? 

It was around his third day there that something peculiar happened. Eliza was sitting in the informal parlor, casually chatting with her mother while doing some needlework, baby Philip in the wooden cradle at Eliza’s feet. John had taken a seat on the floor next to the cradle, mesmerized by the way Eliza expertly moved the needle. He hadn’t even been paying attention to Philip, so he was shocked to find that Philip had been paying attention to him.

“Ah!” Philip exclaimed, a chubby arm flying up in John’s direction. 

John didn’t think much of it, though. Nobody, not even baby Catherine, had seen him in all his days lurking about the mansion. So why would Philip be any different? 

“Ah!” Philip grabbed the side of the cradle, trying to sit up. Eliza quickly bent down to help him before returning to her stitching. 

Philip’s brown eyes were trained directly on John.

“You… you can see me?” John whispered, although he wasn’t sure why. He knew nobody could hear him.

“Ah!” Philip said again, clapping his hands together, a toothless smile overtaking his face. 

Eliza smiled down at her son. “Someone is a happy baby,” she giggled. She scooped him up and cuddled him close to her.

Even in his mother’s arms, Philip didn’t stop looking at John. 

John timidly waved at the baby, who erupted into the purest laughter John had ever heard. He started making funny faces, doing jigs and other dances around the room. He even stepped through the wall once or twice. This elicited the loudest giggles from Philip. 

He kept this up until Philip’s eyes began to flutter shut, until Eliza softly laid him back down in the cradle. John sat down next to the cradle once again and smiled at the small occupant.   
  
Suddenly, being in the Schuyler Mansion wasn’t so bad afterall.


	3. Like my father (but younger)

**1787**

“Philly, why aw you doing that?” Angelica, Philip’s three-year-old sister, sat on a chair in the small living room of their New York City apartment, watching her brother try–– for what had to be the millionth time–– to walk through the wall. 

“Because Freckles can do it,” Philip huffed. He eyed the wall again, as if his mere look could scare it into allowing him passage.

John Laurens laughed. “Bud, I told you, it doesn’t work for you!” 

Philip glared at the ghost he regarded as his imaginary friend, Freckles. “I’ll make it work!”

John smiled, shaking his head. “You’re so much like your father,” he said softly. 

The words were lost on Philip, who was about to full-out charge into the wall when Eliza, baby Alexander Jr. on her hip, and a recently orphaned toddler, Fanny Antill, holding onto Eliza’s skirts, wandered into the room. 

She sighed at the scene. “Philip, how many times do your father and I have to tell you that you can’t go through walls?” 

“But Freckles can!” Philip said as he flopped onto the settee across from Angelica. 

Eliza smiled fondly at her son. “Freckles is… different,” she said. 

John snorted in laughter, causing Philip to look up at him, a conspiratorial smile on his small lips. 

Just then, the front door to the apartment burst open, allowing cold air into the otherwise toasty space. 

“Papa!” both Philip and Angelica shouted, leaping off of the furniture and racing out into the hallway to jump onto their father. 

Alexander smiled at them, ruffling Philip’s brown curls and placing a gentle kiss on Angelica’s forehead. Eliza greeted him with a quick peck on the lips, allowing him a moment to fuss over Alexander Jr., before turning his attention to Fanny, who they were still trying to help feel at home. John Laurens hovered just behind Alexander. He liked to be where Philip could see him. He knew Philip appreciated it. 

“How was your day?” Eliza asked. 

Alexander shook his head in response. “The words that would best describe it are not fit for these small innocent ears.” He tugged on one of Philip’s ears, causing the boy to giggle. 

Eliza nodded grimly. “Children,” she said to the little ones gathered around her skirts. “Go play in the living room?” 

They raced off, John reluctantly following, knowing Philip would want to play with him. John just didn’t like the look on Alexander’s face. He didn’t like how tired, how defeated his Alexander looked. 

He watched as Eliza transferred the tiny Alexander Jr. into his father’s arms, and felt a bit better when that brought a smile to his Alexander’s face. 

“Freckles!” Philip called from the other room. “Come play!” 

John turned, moving further into the room, wondering just what his small friend would want to play that afternoon.


	4. I Play Piano

**1790**

“Did you have to learn an instrument, Freckles?” Philip asked as he flopped onto his bed after another piano lesson with his mother. 

John laughed. “Of course. I grew up on a huge plantation in the south. I had to learn piano, French, Latin…” 

“Can you teach me piano?” Philip asked. “Or, even better!” The boy scrambled up, eyes glowing. “Can you just play it for me?” 

John laughed again. He liked how much he laughed around Philip. He was a funny kid, in the best meaning of the phrase. He’d inherited his father’s wit and intellect, his mother’s softness and compassion, and he’d obviously inherited his Aunt Peggy’s humor, as well. Oh, how John loved family gatherings. Peggy’s sense of humor made the holidays even more enjoyable for him. It made him forget about his… current state. 

“Pleeeease?” Philip begged. He even got down on his knees and clasped his hands together as if in prayer. He snapped his eyes shut tight as he spoke. “Oh powerful and kind Freckles, will you please play the piano for me?” He ventured a peek and saw John was just smirking at him, obviously still not convinced. “At least when my grandparents visit tomorrow?” He got that  _ look  _ on his face–– another thing he’d certainly inherited from his father–– that was just so hard to say no to. It was actually  _ impossible  _ to say no to.

John rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he relented. “But you better  _ look  _ like you’re playing.” 

Philip leapt off his bed and began to jump around the room. “Thank you, Freckles! This is great!” he exclaimed while pumping his fist in the air. 

John had discovered that he could, in fact, move objects, but only if he tried really hard. He was hoping that pressing down on the keys of the fortepiano the Hamiltons kept in the hallway would be easier than that time Philip had implored him to lift a rock for him so he could see what insects were underneath it. 

The following evening found the entire family gathered in the cramped living room, Catherine and Philip Schuyler lounging on the settee, Alexander Jr. and James, who was but a toddler, on their laps. Angelica and Fanny were sitting at the Schuyler’s feet, a dice game spread out between them. 

Eliza bustled into the room, a silver tray with a tea pot and cups–– the kind she pulled out for guests–– on it. Alexander followed him her, his glasses still on, betraying the fact that he’d been reading right up until the moment Eliza probably  _ forced  _ him away from his work. 

“It is so good to have you both here,” Alexander said as he took a seat, taking one of the cookies Eliza had previously brought in and all but shoving it in his mouth. John absentmindedly wondered when Alexander had last eaten.

“I’ve missed my family,” Philip Schuyler said, his eyes smiling even more than his lips. 

“Grandpapa! I got something to show you,” Philip said, winking at John, who was hovering the the back corner of the room.

John floated toward Philip, who was taking his seat at the piano. Philip shivered and did his best to suppress a giggle as John’s form engulfed him, John’s large hands now placed directly over Philip’s smaller ones. 

“Ready?” John whispered, even though he didn’t have to. It just felt right. 

Philip gave him a nod that was imperceptible to anyone else in the room. 

Relief flooded through John when he was able press down on those keys, and Philip let out a delighted sound. 

When the two of them finished their song, everyone in the room applauded, even baby James, who stared at his hands in wonder as he clashed them together.

“Great job, kid,” John said with a wink.  
  
Philip smiled up at him. “All thanks to you.”


	5. Stay Alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the historical events in here are true btw!! I'm too much of a history nerd to forgo historical accuracy.

**1793**

“Are Mama and Papa going to be okay?” Philip whispered to Freckles. 

Philip was squashed in a rickety carriage with his siblings–– he was against one wall, Angelica directly next to him with baby John on her lap, Fanny next to her, and across from them Alexander Jr. and James were huddled together, the luggage the children had brought with them taking up the rest of their seat. 

John was hovering in the space between them all, where there small feet jiggled as the carriage raced away from Philadelphia and up toward Albany. 

“Of course,” he said, though he wasn’t entirely sure. 

Yellow Fever was rampant, and, just when it seemed that it would spare the Hamilton family, it had struck Alexander and Eliza. They’d sent the children out of Philadelphia as soon as they fell ill, praying that, even if they did not survive, their children would leave the city where the illness was taking new victims every moment and stay healthy in Albany with Eliza’s parents. 

John, of course, went with Philip. He’d become too attached to the boy to stay behind, as much as he worried about Alexander and Eliza. He’d rationalized it to himself this way: he could do nothing to help Alexander and Eliza. Only Dr. Edwards, an old friend of Alexander’s from his youth, could do that. But John could help Philip. He could comfort the boy, help him feel less alone. He could help the twelve-year-old stay strong for his younger siblings until they reached the Schuyler Mansion. 

“What if they aren’t?” he whispered.

“They will be,” John said firmly. He remembered the pain of losing his mother. He wouldn’t wish that upon any child, and certainly not the children of a man–– a family–– he loved so much.

They arrived at the Schuyler Mansion late one evening. The children were exhausted from traveling and from the fear of being without their parents; the fear that they may never see their parents again.

Their grandparents ushered them inside, giving them tea and cookies and comforting the younger ones, who’d begun to cry and ask for their parents. 

The youngest of the Schuyler children, Cornelia, who was seventeen, and Catherine, who was twelve, just like Philip, crept down the stairs. They’d clearly been in bed already, since they were bleary-eyed and clad in only their shifts. 

Catherine’s face lit up when she saw Philip and Angelica. Although they were technically her nephew and niece, they felt more like her siblings. She’d spent her earliest years playing with Philip, her other siblings either married, away at school, or too old to want to include her in their games.

“Girls, go back to bed,” their mother said with a sigh.

Cornelia gestured to the Hamilton children. “They’re all younger than me and they’re awake.” Cornelia pulled one of the dining room chairs away from the table and sat in it, arms crossed in defiance. 

Her mother simply sighed, too exhausted to deal with her rebellious teenaged daughter. Little Catherine excitedly wedged herself between Philip and Angelica’s seats. 

“Did you travel here all alone?” Her eyes were wide in amazement. 

John Laurens snorted with laughter as he watched Philip sit up straighter, clearly wanting to come off as a tough, strong guy. 

“Yeah,” he said nonchalantly. “Just the driver with us, though he barely said a word to us the entire time.”

“Wow,” Catherine said, looking between Philip and Angelica. “That’s so brave of you.” 

Philip just shrugged. Angelica smiled at Catherine. 

“Alright, children, bedtime,” the elder Catherine declared. She scooped baby John up and took James’ hand. 

Angelica gently shook Fanny, who’d fallen asleep on her empty tea saucer, and took her hand as they ascended the stairs.

“Can Philip sleep in our room?” Catherine whined. 

Her mother smiled down at her. “You know we’ve already set up the extra cots in the boy’s old room.

Little Catherine stomped her feet and pouted, but her mother took no notice. John Laurens figured that after raising eight children, Catherine Schuyler knew how to take no shit. 

John floated into the room where the Hamilton children would be staying. Once they were ready for bed–– Philip, Angie, and Fanny tucked together on a single large cot–– he sank down next to them.

“Night, Freckles,” Philip whispered, his voice fading as his eyes fluttered shut. 

“Night, Philip,” John said, a smile on his translucent face. He floated over to the window and looked out, only seeing trees, if anything, in the darkness.

“I hope you’re okay,” he whispered, praying his words found Alexander and Eliza well.


	6. When the words don't reach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :'((( poor Eliza <333

**1794**

“Why’s Mama crying?” Alexander Jr. whispered to Philip.

“I…” Philip thought he knew, but he didn’t want to say. 

John Laurens knew, and he certainly did not want to say, especially if Eliza would rather not talk about it. He hadn’t meant to overhear, but he’d become attune to Eliza’s crying, since it was so rare. When it happened, he was drawn to it. He always had the urge to protect her, even when there wasn’t anything he could really protect her from.

“Remember how Mama was pregnant?” Philip said softly. 

Alexander Jr. nodded, looking up at Philip in confusion. Their mother still  _ looked  _ pregnant. John knew it took time for the weight, as little as it was, to come off. 

“She’s not anymore,” Philip said. 

John cringed as he remembered Eliza’s face after she realized what had happened. Alexander had come home late, detained at the office. He’d come home to the usual greeting from his children, who loved to jump all over him, but his wife, who was also typically there to kiss him hello, was missing. 

John had been with Eliza since he heard the sob. He’d seen the blood, and he’d watched her, hands shaking, as she cleaned it up. 

When Alexander finally found her, curled up on their bed, sobbing into a pillow, her crying only increased. John sighed in relief when it seemed like Alexander just  _ knew  _ what had happened. When John had left them, Eliza’s head was on Alexander’s lap, and he was whispering soothing words to her, running a hand through her dark locks. 

“Where’d she put the baby?” Alexander Jr. asked, looking around the room they were in, as if maybe the baby had been placed on a shelf or was rolling around on the floor.

“The baby was too tiny.” Philip looked down.

“The baby is… dead?” Alexander Jr. whispered. 

“Yes,” Philip said, voice breaking. He looked up at John, tears in his brown eyes. “The baby’s up there with the angels and God, Alex. The baby’s happy.” 

Alex wiped away his tears on his sleeve. “You promise?” 

Philip pulled his little brother in for a hug. “I promise.” 

From the way he said it, John knew that Philip was lying. He wasn’t sure at all. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore. 


	7. Philip's world turned upside down

**1795**

“I know he’s busy, but I just feel like I never see him anymore.” Philip was walking the pathways of New York City, kicking any spare pebble that was in his way. John Laurens was hovering right beside him.

“He’s always been this way,” John admitted.

Philip paused to give one pebble an extra strong kick. “You’re always saying that. It’s like you knew him or something.”

John sighed. He knew this conversation had to happen some day. In fact, he’d been putting it off for some time, really. Any time Philip showed any curiosity, any interest, in John’s past, John was quick to shut it down.

But Philip was a teenager now. He was starting college soon. More than that, John felt like he had a right to know. He just hoped and prayed to whoever may be listening that Philip wouldn’t hate him once he could out the truth, that he wasn’t Freckles, his imaginary friend who’d stuck around  _ way  _ longer than other kid’s imaginary friends do. 

“Well, I did know him,” John admitted. 

“Were you his imaginary friend, too?” Philip furrowed his brow at John. 

John motioned his young friend over to a grassy spot under a nearby tree. The two sat, Philip leaning against the tree’s trunk, fiddling with a blade of grass. John thought of him and Alexander sitting beneath trees late at night, after their work for the day–– or at least next few hours–– as Washington’s aides de camp was done. He thought of the one time that they’d done more than just sit there. The one time he’d gotten Alexander to shut up.

He pushed that thought from his mind. While he wanted to be honest with Philip, Philip certainly did not need to know  _ that.  _

“No. We were real friends. We were in the war together.” 

“The Revolution?” Philip asked, his eyes widening. 

John nodded. “Alexan–– your father, I mean, was my closest friend. We were aides to Washington together. We fought at Yorktown together.” 

John looked down at his translucent hands. He remembered a time when those hands had taken Alexander’s in an attempt to comfort him after a particularly vivid nightmare, induced by the thunderstorm that was rattling the fragile windows of their sleeping quarters.

“What happened?” From the way Philip asked, John had a feeling the boy knew the answer. He, of course, told him anyway.

“Your father came home after Yorktown because the war, essentially, had ended. But it had not officially ended. So I stayed on, moved down to South Carolina, where there was still a good amount of fighting.” 

He looked up at the leaves, large and green, at their brightest now, during the height of summer.

“You were born months after Yorktown ended. I got one more letter from your father, and then, that August…” 

He shook his head. How could he have been so stupid, to squander his youth, his life, like that? To  _ crave  _ death? 

“Oh my god,” Philip said, eyes widening. “You’re John Laurens.” 

It was John’s turn to be shocked. A million questions raced through his mind, but all he could do was stare at Philip.

“Pops has this letter, well, he’s got a few actually. One is from your father, stating that you’d died in August of the year I was born.”

“The others?” John asked breathlessly. He couldn’t help himself. He’d thought Alexander would have forgotten him by now, now that he had such a large and loving family. 

“They’re from you.” 

John swore that if his heart was still beating, it would’ve beat right out of his chest. 

“He keeps them in the top drawer of his desk. The one that’s usually locked, ya know?” 

“How’d you get in?” John eyed his young friend suspiciously.

Philip smirked in response. “You’ve said it yourself. I’m like my father.”

John rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t keep that damn smile off of his face. The longer he thought about it, about Alexander keeping his letters all these years, still revisiting them, still thinking of him, he found that he didn’t want to stop smiling. 

For the first time in a long time, since baby Philip had seen him that day in the informal living room at the Schuyler’s mansion, John felt something like hope. 


	8. The Reynolds Pamphlet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Alexander has invented a new kind of stupid)  
> (A damage he can never undo kind of stupid)

**1797**

“I don’t believe it, Angie. I just don’t. These people are only out to slander him.” Eliza was sitting in the formal living room of their new apartment in New York. Her sister, Angelica, had finally returned from London. 

Philip and his sister, Angelica, were crouched in the hallway, trying and failing to hide behind a decorative table. John Laurens was hovering above them, arms crossed, eyes worried. 

He knew what Eliza and Angelica were talking about, and he also knew it was true. 

Alexander Hamilton was many things, and  _ a complete and absolute idiot  _ was one of them. 

Speak of the devil–– the front door opened. Angie and Philip scrambled around the corner. John stayed where he was and watched Alexander walk, or, more accurately, drag himself, into the apartment. In his hands was a pamphlet. This wasn’t usual for a man who never stopped reading, but John  _ knew. _

He knew because he’d watched Alexander spend many restless nights in his office, pacing, deliberating, writing, burning paper, writing more, and finally finishing what was probably the worst mistake of his life. 

The most painful moment for Laurens was when his Hamilton sighed, then let out a sad laugh as he scanned over the final version of his pamphlet. “The only person who could convince me not to do this is no longer here,” he said. 

John screamed at him, he begged him not to do it. Told him over and over again that this was the worst idea he’d  _ ever  _ had. 

Alexander, of course, could not hear him.

“John,” Philip hissed. “Yo, John.” He beckoned Laurens over to where he and Angie were hiding. 

Even though Angelica couldn’t see him, she was the only sibling who accepted, without a doubt or a funny look on her face, that John was real. Whether this was because she actually believed it or because she loved her brother so much, Laurens wasn’t sure. But, either way, they formed a nice trio, even if one-third of it couldn’t see the other third.

“Do you know what they’re talking about? And why Pops looks so distraught?” 

John didn’t want to tell him. He couldn’t. Philip idolized his father, even if he did resent him a little bit for being away so often. He still idolized him, though, because he knew his father was off doing amazing and honorable things. He was making their country stronger.

John had heard Alexander whisper to Philip, then still a baby,  _ I’ll bleed and fight for you. I’ll make it right for you.  _

He wondered where that Alexander had gone. He wondered if he’d walked right out of his life as soon as Maria Reynolds walked in. 

“Eliza?” 

The three of them quieted as Alexander’s shaky voice sounded from the other room. 

“My love, I need to tell you something.” 

John didn’t like to think about what he heard next. He hated the way Eliza sobbed upon hearing the news, the way she begged him not to distributed that pamphlet. 

The way she sobbed harder when he told her it was already too late.

The way Angelica screamed at Alexander, cursed him out, told him that he wasn’t anywhere near deserving of her sister or the family they’d built together. 

Philip looked up at John, his eyes wide, tears gathering in them. Angelica was already pressed against her brother, shaking as soft sobs racked her body. John doubted she truly understood what was happening, but he knew she would soon. Philip, on the other hand–– Philip knew.

“How could he?” Philip whispered. “How could he do this to us?” 

Angelica continued sobbing. 

John shook his head, the memory of anger flooding him. “He’s the stupidest man I know,” John said. 

“I thought you loved him?” Philip asked, sparing John a teary glance.

“I do, I do.” John agreed. “But I hate him right now. I hate him more than I ever thought possible.” He looked down at Philip and Angie. 

“Let’s get you both into the other room,” John suggested. 

Philip nodded, lifting his sister up with him. John followed the two children into the other room, wondering if anything, anything  _ at all _ , would be able to make this family whole again.


	9. Burn

**1797**

“John?” Philip whispered around five o’clock in the morning. “Are you there?” 

Lately John had taken to checking on all of the children. The younger ones were still largely unaware of what had happened, though it was only William, who was but weeks old, who was completely oblivious to the change in the atmosphere of the house. 

The child John Laurens was most worried about was Angelica. The thirteen-year-old had become quite withdrawn. The only one who was able to reach her some days was Philip. 

But right now, Philip needed John. John was glad he was in Philip’s room at that moment. He floated down toward the boy, who blinked blearily at him, but smiled upon recognizing his form.

“Can you come to college with me today?” 

John normally let Philip go to college on his own. As much as he liked spending time with his young friend, he also wanted John to make friends his own age, or at least friends who were alive.

But if he asked, John would always say yes. Always.

“Of course,” John said. “Is it another exciting lesson?” 

Sometimes Philip told John to come with him when there was a particularly interesting lesson, or when Philip knew he’d be learning about a subject that John was fascinated with. 

Philip sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes. He then got up and motioned for John to follow him. One of their favorite things was to sit on the front step of the apartment and watch the city slowly awaken. Philip slipped on his stockings, breeches, and waistcoat, leaving his cravat and coat behind. The last thing he did was lace up his leather shoes. John looked down at his outfit, his uniform from the war. It seemed he’d be wearing it for all eternity. Not that he minded, though.

Normally they sat on the step in relative silence, but John could tell there was something that Philip wanted to talk about today. A few silent seconds ticked by before the boy sighed and began to speak.

“Other students at school have seen the pamphlet,” he said. “Most of them have been civil enough to not treat me differently, or at least leave me be.” He stopped fast and sighed again, shaking his head.

“I’m guessing not everyone has been so kind?” John ventured.

“You sure are smart.” 

“What do they say?” John wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer, but he would do anything to help Philip, and, right now, it seemed as if talking about it would be most helpful to the teen. 

Philip shrugged, letting silence settle between them for a moment. 

Somewhere in the distance, a rooster crowed. John found that so amazing, how, even though the city had become more of a city in the years he and Philip had spent there, it still had such rural aspects to it. He could see why Alexander loved this place. It was as nonstop as he was, and it was still up-and-coming, like Alexander had been when he arrived on its shores. 

“They say I’m just like my father,” Philip finally said.

“That you’re just as bold, as brave, as intelligent and determined?” John said.

Philip rolled his eyes. “You know that’s not what they’re saying.”

“But that’s all true,” John said.

Philip shrugged again. “Well they say I’m just as much of a scoundrel.” 

John knew Philip wasn’t telling him everything, but he was glad with what Philip had told him, so he let it go. 

“Hey, John?” Philip’s voice was suddenly much meeker.

“Yeah?” John said softly. 

“Is it horrible that sometimes I hate him? That sometimes I wish all of those pamphlets would burn, and he’d be scorched by their flames?” 

What John wanted to say was  _ you’re just as much of a poet as your father, my lord.  _ But what he did say was much different. 

“That’s normal, Philip. He did something that hurt your mother, your family. He did something that hurt you.”

Philip nodded. “I won’t feel like this forever, right?” 

John wished he could ruffle the boy’s hair, but anytime he tried to his affectionate touch was no more than a passing breeze. “No, you won’t. This too shall pass.” 

“Thanks,” Philip said. “Thanks for talking with me. For being around.” 

John smiled at the boy. “I’ll always be around for you,” he said. And, god, did he mean it.


	10. Someday, someday...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I ever mentioned how much I love Angelica Hamilton?

**1800**

John Laurens had watched Philip Hamilton become a bold, confident young man. At eighteen, he reminded John more and more of the love of his life, the boy’s father, Alexander. 

Philip had something Alexander didn’t, though, because he had Eliza for a mom. Her compassion and kindness were just as evident in the eighteen-year-old as were Alexander’s scrappy wit and intellect. 

It was early in the evening and Philip was home from classes. Eliza and the three youngest children were still out, and his father was still at work, so it was just Philip, Angelica, Alexander Jr., and James.

Philip found Angelica at the piano that the aunt for whom she was named had sent her from London. She’d come to spend most of her days on that bench. 

“Hey, Sis,” Philip said as he flopped onto the settee in the back of the room. 

Angelica smiled in acknowledgement of him, but kept playing. This was how it usually went. If Philip, or anyone, for that matter, dared to speak to her while she was playing, Angie would simply keep playing until she was finished. 

Everyone indulged her in this because she was an especially talented pianist, and because she’d grown into a kind of quirky girl. John worried about her from time to time, but, even when she seemed to slip into another world every now and then, she always came back; she was always cheery. 

Once she was finished, Philip started to applaud. She laughed at his shenanigans. John smiled at the siblings, who reminded him of his own, sometimes. He missed them. He missed them more and more each day. Some days, he wished he could see them again. But that would mean leaving Philip, and Philip needed him. He said he’d always be there for Philip, and, by god, he would be. 

“Want to go look at some birds, Angie?” Philip asked. 

Piano and birds: Angelica Hamilton’s favorite things. 

Angelica Hamilton: Philip Hamilton’s favorite person in the world. 

John remembered when Philip was younger–– oh, the fuss he’d put up about not having a brother. And then he gets brother after brother, only to attach to his sister the most. In fact, he’d only gotten a second sister this past year–– a little one named Elizabeth, for their mother. Not since Fanny left them to go live with her married sister had there been a second girl in their home. 

They all made such a bit fuss over the baby, but perhaps nobody made more of a fuss than Philip and Angie. They loved to make the baby laugh, to soothe her when she cried. John loved to watch, imagining how great a father Philip would make some day, how loving of a mother Angelica would be to her own children. 

Their futures seemed so bright. That year, everything seemed so bright.

“I’d love to,” Angelica said, a smile spreading across her face.

“Then let’s go,” Philip exclaimed.   
  
John smiled as he watched the siblings race outside into the early evening sunlight.


	11. You'll blow us all away

**1801**

“Pops, if you’d only heard the shit he said about you! I doubt you would’ve let it slide and I was not about to!” 

“Slow down,” Alexander said, taking off his glasses and placing them on the desk. 

“I came to ask you for advice,” Philip said, not slowing down at all. “This is my very first duel and they didn’t exactly cover this subject at school.” 

“Did your friends attempt to negotiate a peace?” Alexander asked, voice gruff, a worried look in his eyes. 

“He refused to apologize,” Philip exclaimed. “We had to let the peace talks cease!” 

“Where is this happening?” Alexander looked strained, as if he were at war within himself. 

John wanted to scream at Alexander, to tell him to  _ refuse  _ to allow Philip to do this. But he knew what Alexander was probably thinking: he’d been fighting a war at Philip’s age. He couldn’t hold his son back from doing what he wanted.

_ But you can _ , John wanted to scream.  _ Don’t you ever wish someone had looked out for you?  _

“Across the river in Jersey,” Philip said. 

“Everything is legal in New Jersey,” they both mumbled. 

Alexander sighed. John thought–– for just one moment–– that he was going to tell his son not to do this. 

He was so wrong. 

“Alright,” Alexander said. “So this is what you’re gonna do.”

“Philip, don’t do this,” John pleaded. He was hovering next to Alexander, looking directly at Philip.

Philip didn’t say anything since his father was right there, but he did shoot Laurens an annoyed look. 

“Stand there like a man until Eacker is in front of you. When the time comes, fire your weapon in the air. This will put an end to the whole affair.” 

“What happened to not throwing away your shot?” John shouted into Alex’s ear, growing more and more frustrated that he couldn’t communicate with him, with his best friend, the love of his life and afterlife. He couldn’t reach him, couldn’t help him save his son. 

“But what if he decides to shoot?” Philip’s eyes go wide. “Then I’m a goner!” 

“No,” Alexander said firmly. “He’ll follow suit if he’s truly a man of honor.” 

“Not everyone is as honorable as you,” John mumbled, glaring at Alexander. 

“To take someone’s life…” Alexander looked down, shaking his head. 

John had no doubt that he was recalling the lives he took in the redoubt at Yorktown. The lives he instructed his men to take, ruthlessly. 

“That is something you can’t shake. Philip,” he said, voice suddenly desperate. “Your mother can’t take another heartbreak.” 

“Father––” Philip said, eyes widening.

“Promise me,” Alexander said, more forcibly than Laurens had heard since the Revolution. Since they were fighting for their lives and future nation every day. “You don’t want this young man’s blood on your conscience.”

“I promise,” Philip said meekly, looking horribly unsure. 

“Come back home when you’re done.” Alexander turned to a box set on a small table in his office. “Take my guns. Be smart. Make me proud son.” He handed the box to Philip, who took it and nodded. 

Laurens followed Philip out of Alexander’s office and down the hall, to the room he shared with his brothers. His brothers, away at their lessons right now, were gone, but Angelica was there.

Philip quickly stashed the box out of her sight. “Ang, whatcha doing here?” He laughed nervously. 

His sister, who’d had her back to them when they entered the room, looking intently out the window, turned to Philip, a giddy smile on her face. “I was watching this bird.” She pointed out the window. Philip, followed by a floating Laurens, went to the window. 

A grey catbird sat on a nearby branch, opening its beak to call out to its mate every few seconds. The mate always called back, which delighted Angie. Philip’s face lit up, too, though John noticed it dropped nearly as quickly. It was as if the weight of something much too heavy for him was crushing him, squeezing the youth out of him.

_ What happened to I’ll bleed and fight for you? I’ll make it right for you?  _ John wondered. 

The bird flew off, and Angie jumped up. “I’m going to follow her!” 

Philip watched his sister go. A few weeks ago, he would have gone with her. Now, he hesitated. 

“Philip,” John said. 

“I know what you’re going to say,” Philip said without turning to face John. 

“Then you know what you need to do.”

“I know you dueled. You dueled Charles Lee, and my father was your second.” 

“And it was a silly, rash thing to do. I shouldn’t hav––”

“But you shot him!” When Philip turned to face John, there were tears in his eyes. “You won the duel. You stood up for Washington’s honor.”

“He didn’t  _ want  _ us to do that, Philip. General Washington was a wise man. He knew that no good came from a practice as barbaric as dueling.” 

“Then why didn’t Pops try to stop me?”

John felt the hurt, the anguish in Philip’s voice. 

“Because your father is not the same kind of wise as Washington. The General was humble, and your father, well,” John chuckled. “He’s never been.” 

“I have to do this, John,” Philip said, voice shaking.

“You don’t,” John countered. “Please, Philip. You have so much life to live.” He wanted to add  _ don’t be like me.  _

Philip gave him a small smile. “Then I guess right after the duel I better start living it.” 


	12. The Unimaginable

**1801**

Weehawken. Dawn. Guns, drawn.  

Philip Hamilton stood on one of the grassy banks on the New Jersey side of the Hudson River. Across from him stood George Eacker.

John Laurens did not like the look in Eacker’s eyes. He didn’t like that look  _ at all _ . 

“Philip, there’s still time to stop this. Just apologize, just say your claims were wrong.”

“But they weren’t,” Philip said through clenched teeth. “And everyone here knows that. I’ll look like a fool.”   

“But you’ll be alive!” John exclaimed. “The only foolish thing here would actually be dueling.

“I’m going to delope and you know that,” Philip hissed, careful not to let anyone catch him talking to, seemingly, the cool morning air. 

“And that’s partially why I’m so worried,” Laurens said.

Philip turned to face John, pretending he was inspecting his gun one final time. “John, Freckles,” he smiled at his childhood name for John. “I just need you to know that you kept your promise, and words can never describe how thankful I am for that.” His words were soft, whispered so it was as if they weren’t said at all. But John could hear them. He could always hear Philip. 

“Philip,” John said. “Philip, I’m still always going to be around for you.” 

Philip gave him a small smile. “Either way I guess I’ll still see you. Ha.” He laughed, even though it wasn’t funny. 

Philip turned, and it was as if everything was happening in slow motion. 

They went through the paces, Philip and Eacker starting directly in front of each other, then turning away, walking their ten paces. John watched as Philip raised his pistol to the sky, and then he watched the bullet tear through him. 

As he watched this boy, this boy he’d seen grow under the tender love and care of his mother, his entire family, from an infant to an almost-adult, crumple on the dewy grass, the gun, never fired, falling from his hand, his second running toward him, rushing him to a boat to row him back across the Hudson, John Laurens’ ghost heart shattered into as many pieces as there are stars in the sky. 

It was then, and only then–– not when his mother died, not during the war, not as he himself died–– then, watching Philip fall, red spilling from him, that John Laurens fully and completely understood the tragedy of death. 

“PHILIP!” John shouted, racing toward him. 

Philip’s eyes were half-open, but he was still breathing.

John placed his hand on Philip’s. From the way the boy’s hand twitched, he was certain he at least felt  _ something. _

“You were around for me,” Philip whispered. 

“I’ll still be around for you,” Laurens said, his voice, his entire form, shaking. “Please, Philip, please stay.” 

They continued across the Hudson, Manhattan growing larger the closer they got. Philip’s eyes were shut, but he was breathing. John held onto that small granule of hope. 

_ As long as he’s breathing, I’ll have hope.  _


	13. Philip never hurt a soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This hurt my soul to write... have some tissues nearby, kiddos...

**1801**

John was hovering in the corner of an unfamiliar room. It was Angelica’s city home, the one she and her husband, John Church, had bought after they returned from Europe a few years ago. 

“Where’s my son?” Alexander burst through the door, his eyes frantically scanning the room before finding Philip’s writhing form on the bed, a doctor standing next to him.

“Mr. Hamilton, come in. They brought him in a half an hour ago. He lost a lot of blood on the way over.”

“Is he alive?” Alexander asked, voice breaking. 

“Yes, but you have to understand…” The doctor began to fidget with his hands. “The bullet entered just above his hip and lodged in his right arm.” 

“Can I see him please?” Alexander was desperate, trying to get around the doctor who was attempting to hold him back so he could properly to talk to him. 

“I’ve done everything I can,” the doctor admitted. “But the wound was already infected when he arrived.” 

Alexander finally pushed past the doctor, and John wondered if he understood what the doctor had been trying to tell him.

“Philip!” he exclaimed, grabbing his son’s uninjured arm. 

“Pa,” Philip gasped, squinting his eyes in pain. 

A horrible scream erupted from the doorway.  _ “NOOOOOO!” _

It was like the miscarriage, back in 1794. It was like when Alexander published the pamphlet. Except, actually, it was so much worse. So, so much worse. 

“Is he breathing? Is he going to survive this?” Eliza asked, sobs leaking out between her words. She all but pushed Alexander off of their son, taking both of his hands in her own. 

“Who did this?” She turned to her husband. “Alexander, did you know?” 

Laurens shook his head, not sure who he pitied most right now. He did know who he was the most angry at, though. 

“Mom,” Philip’s voice interrupted all of their thoughts. “I’m so sorry for forgetting what you taught me.” 

“My son,” Eliza said, unsuccessfully trying to keep herself from sobbing.

“We played piano,” he whispered. His eyes floated upward, found John, much to John’s surprise. He knew what Philip was thinking of right away, and the saddest smile crossed his translucent face. 

“I taught you piano,” Eliza said, her voice melodic even as she cried. 

“You would put your hands on mine,” Philip said, his voice hitching as he squirmed in pain. 

“You changed the melody every time,” Eliza said with a sad laugh. 

“Ha. I would always change the line,” he said, voice strained. 

“Shh, I know, I know,” Eliza tried desperately to ease her son’s pain. 

“I would always change the line,” Philip gasped, body convulsing. 

“I know, I know,” Eliza sobbed. 

When Philip stopped breathing a moment later, John wasn’t sure Eliza would survive. The scream that left her body so terrifying, so heart wrenching, so utterly mournful, that he was convinced she was going to collapse.

But she didn’t. As much as she may have wanted to, she didn’t. 

John left the room, leaving Eliza and Alexander to grieve in private.


	14. The Other Side

**1801**

Laurens had wondered if it would happen, and, selfishly, was relieved when it did. 

“You didn’t tell me floating was this cool,” Philip said as he floated up next to John.

“I didn’t want to make you jealous,” John said with a small smile. 

“Mom and Pops are in there, right?” Philip asked, sobering up quickly. He nodded his head toward the other room. 

“Yes, but, Philip,” John said, reaching out to him. “You do  _ not  _ want to go in there.” He grabbed for Philip’s arm and was both heartbroken and elated when he was able to grasp it. 

“Why?” he asked, clearly wanting to see his parents again.

“I can tell you first hand how painful it is to watch someone you love grieve over you and know you can’t do a thing to let them know you’re there, that you’re okay, that you’re thinking of them.”

Philip sighed, his head dropping a bit. “Yeah, I guess you would know a thing or two about that.” 

“Come on,” John said, motioning upward.

“Where?” Philip asked, giving John a strange look.

“Do you want to meet your grandmother?” 

Philip looked confused for a moment before his face lit up. “Pop’s mom?” he asked excitedly. 

“Yeah,” John said with a smile. 

“And Aunt Peggy!” Philip said, even more excitedly. 

John smiled even wider. He’d sure missed Peggy. 

“You go,” John said. “I just have one last thing I need to do.” 

Philip looked like he wanted to protest, but he bit his lip and nodded. John watched him float higher and higher up, until he disappeared.   
  
John took a deep breath. He needed to check on one last person: Angelica Hamilton.


	15. You Played Piano

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angelica Hamilton <333333

**1802**

Angelica Hamilton was not doing well. 

That day that her brother died, when her parents came home, tear stained faces, red puffy eyes, she stopped talking. She stopped moving forward with her life. She stayed stagnant in some ways, reverted in many others. 

She played the same songs over and over again on the piano. Her father bought her the most colorful, exotic birds, hoping they would spark some of the old Angie in her, but nothing worked. 

She sat on the piano bench and talked as if Philip were there. 

What her parents didn’t know is that Philip  _ was  _ there. 

As much as John had wanted him to stay away, Philip wouldn’t hear of it. When John didn’t appear after a few days, Philip went looking for him. When he saw his sister in the middle of a complete breakdown, he stayed. 

Angelica could see Philip, and she could also see John.

“Freckles,” she said, the first time she saw John. The way she smiled let both boys know that, although she had not been able to see John before, she never doubted Philip when he’d said he was real. 

Philip and John tried in vain to encourage her to move forward. Philip reassured her every day that he was fine, that he was happy, but he would be  _ really  _ happy if she let her parents, her other siblings, in a bit more. Let them help her heal.

Soon it became obvious that Angelica was not going to heal, no matter what they told her, no matter what anyone, on either side, did.

Philip watched as his mother broke down in his father’s arms almost nightly, both over the pain of losing their son and, now, in a different way, their daughter. 

Their Aunt Angelica came over often, bringing her niece new piano books, trying to teach her new songs, but Angie never even tried to play them. It was as if a part of her was forcing her to stay in the past. To stay in a place where she still had Philip in the flesh. 

Every day, John encouraged Philip to go back to the other side. Every day, Philip absolutely refused to, no matter how much John reassured the boy that he would stay with Angie, he would comfort her. John worried about the toll remaining with his family, who now lived in the Grange in Harlem, removed from the rest of the city, uptown where it was quiet, was taking on Philip. He looked sadder and sadder every day. He looked more and more lost every day.

But he refused to go. He refused to leave Angie’s side. 

And who was John to separate them? After all, hadn’t he stayed all of these years, even on the days it hurt so horribly that he swore he couldn’t do it any longer? 

Love, in all of its forms, always transcended death. He was proof of that, and now Philip was, too.


	16. Chapter 16

**1804**

Weehawken. Dawn. Guns, drawn.

“Pops,” Philip whispered. 

“Alexander,” John sighed. 

“What about Ma?” Philip said, looking desperately at John. “He can’t do this to her!” 

John just shook his head. “Your father has always been headstrong. It was good in the war, but it didn’t transfer well to, ah, civilian life.” 

“And Angie,” Philip cried. “She can’t take another loss like this!” 

John wished he could do  _ something.  _ He thought the pamphlet, then his response to Philip’s desire to duel, were and always would be the stupidest things the incredibly intelligent Alexander Hamilton would ever do. 

Clearly, John Laurens had underestimated him.

John and Philip watched as Hamilton and Burr took their ten paces. They watched as they turned, guns still down, staring at each other, waiting for the other to make the first move. Minutes passed. The seconds started to fidget, asked if they wanted to end it in a draw.

Then Alexander raised his gun to the sky, and Burr, out of fear, shot before he could be shot. 

Philip watched his father fall to the ground. John watched his love’s second rush over to him, prop him up against a nearby rock, call for the boat. 

“Philip,” John said, as they hovered in the boat that was now rowing Alexander back to Manhattan. “I… I’m sorry. After this, I just…” 

Philip placed a hand on John’s shoulder. “I meant it, you know, what I said before.” 

John gave Philip a confused look. He felt like the roles they’d played for all these years were suddenly reversed. It was disorienting. 

“You were around for me. You kept your promise.” 

“But I let you get sh––” 

“No. I let myself get shot, John,” Philip said firmly. “You tried to stop me.” 

“I could’ve done more,” John said, shaking his head.

“No, Freckles. No.” Philip squeezed John’s shoulder. “And you should go with Pops. He’ll be looking for you.” 

“He’ll be looking for  _ you, _ ” John said. 

“And you can tell him where I am,” Philip said with a sad smile. “I left Angie, John. I didn’t even say goodbye, and now she’s…” His breath hitched. 

“She has your family, you can come with me,” John said. 

The boat was docking, and Alexander was being laid down in a carriage. John and Philip hovered near him and his second. 

“I  _ want  _ to stay with her.” Philip said.

And John knew he did. John knew how it was to feel responsible to someone. It was how he’d come to feel toward Philip. It was why it was so hard to say goodbye now, after all this time. 

“If you’re sure,” John said.

“I am.” And John couldn’t deny the pure confidence in Philip’s voice.

“God, you are  _ just  _ like your father,” John said with a sad laugh. 

“Like my father, but bolder,” Philip said with a wink. 

They both laughed, and John hugged Philip. He knew Philip would be okay. He had no doubt about that.

So, when the time came, and Alexander breathed his last, it was John who stepped out of the shadows and took his hand. Philip watched as they floated upward together, finally reunited. 

“Oh my god,” Alexander sobbed. “My Laurens. You came for me?” 

“I never left you,” John said. “I couldn’t bear it.”

Alexander sobbed again, but John could tell it was out of joy this time. 

As they floated further up toward the ceiling, Alexander looked down at his Eliza, sobbing over his still form. “My love,” he whispered. “Take your time.” He squeezed John’s hand, as if he were drawing strength from him. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

And finally, John Laurens drifted upward, his love’s hand in his own.

“My Alexander,” he said, a smile overtaking his face. 

“My Laurens,” Alexander said. “After all this time.” 

Together, they crossed over to the other side. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this!!! I hope you enjoyed it! Comments and kudos absolutely make my day! If you want more where this came from come follow me on tumblr: @undiscoveredstory :D <333


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